


The First Annual Conference of Transfigurative Youth

by katekane



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Coming Out, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Hicsqueak, Honouring Ellen Page, It Gets Better, LGBTQ Themes, Virginity Is a Fundamentally Flawed Concept, minority rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 17:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17430068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katekane/pseuds/katekane
Summary: What if Pippa Pentangle held actress Ellen Page’s amazing coming out speech? What if Hecate Hardbroom were there to witness it? What if significant changes could be brought about in the world, in the witching community, in a person in just one night? All will be revealed at the very first conference of Transfigurative Youth, a brand new intersectional magic activist movement.





	The First Annual Conference of Transfigurative Youth

**Author's Note:**

> First: Does anyone know why the relationship tag "Hecate Hardbroom/Pippa Pentangle" no longer works? 
> 
> Secondly: This is what happened when I rewatched and fangirled over Ellen Page's amazing coming out speech from 2014 while sort of simulaneously reading/writing Hicsqueak. I hope in combining the two things I am not belittling either. In any case let it be known: I am *in awe* of Ellen Page's oratory talents and hope she does not mind me borrowing them for this particular fic.

Why Hecate Hardbroom is spending a precious Saturday at the Transfigurative Youth conference is beyond her. She does not even like _traditional_ witching conferences much. She attends dutifully when her publishing company forces her to promote one of her potion books, and she takes part in intellectual lectures and discussions to keep herself academically up to date. But the mingling, the elbow rubbing, the back patting… It all requires an aptitude for social niceties and fake smiles that Hecate cannot, _will_ not ever be skilled at. And it always transports her back to her teenage years of being too tall, too serious, and saying the wrong things; of being the odd one out.

She feels like that now, even if this particular conference welcomes those who are normally left out. Transfigurative Youth is a newly formed organisation furthering equal rights and access for all magic minorities. Of course, this means the emphasis is on activist workshops rather than academic hierarchies, and that is probably why Hecate feels even more at a loss than she does at traditional conferences. She has absolutely no idea how to act, whom to look up to or down upon. Everyone is supposedly equal here, and, she notes with some disdain, on a first name basis with one another. So all Hecate can do is twirl her glass of red wine between thumb and forefinger and try to become one with the back wall of the conference hall.

“Miss Hardbroom?”

Normally, Hecate would wince at the unmistakable voice – and the unmistakable eagerness – of her most troublesome student, but Mildred Hubble sticks to title and last name and provides a much-needed familiar focal point in the chaos. For the first time ever Mildred’s appearance fills Hecate with something akin to relief.

“Mildred,” she says with as much of a smile as any student has ever been grazed with from her.

“Are you here for Miss Pentangle’s opening speech?” Mildred wonders aloud.

It never fails to astonish Hecate how the girl can be clueless in countless areas, particularly the ones taught at Cackle’s, yet impressively perceptive in others. Mildred’s remark makes it hard for Hecate to keep pretending she does not know why she is here on a sunny Saturday. She knows very well. And for once, possibly because Mildred feels like the safest anchor in the room, she openly admits as much. “I am indeed. And you?”

“Oh, I’m one of the volunteers. I am on kitchen and cleaning duty for most of the weekend, but they let me attend the opening ceremony. I’m hoping to maybe participate in some workshops next year,” Mildred says with a wide smile.

If only the girl was as eager when it came to potion making, Hecate thinks to herself, but for once she holds her sarcasm back. “How did you become involved?” she asks instead, wanting to keep the conversation going. If Mildred leaves, Hecate will once again be left to her own faulty social devices.

“I asked Esmeralda Hallows if I could help. She’s one of the founders, you know. Esme really is _the_ _best witch_ ,” Mildred gushes, and Hecate will not argue with that even if she does raise an eyebrow at Mildred’s awestruck tone. “She was in a non-magic school just like me, though only for a little while, and that’s how she came up with the idea. Many non-magic schools have groups for minorities, like, at my old school we had a GSA. Though I’m not sure Cackle’s Academy is quite ready for that. I mean, we don’t even have sex education,” Mildred mumbles with uncharacteristic shyness.

Hecate cannot blame her. Just hearing the words from Mildred makes her wince internally, even if, as a teacher of teenage girls, she has heard a thing or two over the years. But Mildred is right: in magic schools birds and bees are only talked about when they are used as potion ingredients. Hecate would not know how to approach the topic of sex, and, as much as she hates to admit it, this is not simply because she lacks the pedagogical skills. She lacks _knowledge_. At nearly 50, that lack has become such an embarrassment to her she prefers to ignore an area which apparently remains central for most people. So central they take to forming organisations because of it. She frowns at the thought, a little afraid of how much she does not know. It seems best to keep her focus on Mildred’s words. “I assume GSA is an acronym?”

Mildred nods eagerly. “Gay-Straight Alliance. Although, it’s for anyone who’s LGBTQI, really, and their heterosexual friends.”

Again, the amount of knowledge Hecate does not have feels overwhelming, like a blinding flashlight to her face. She blinks rapidly and is torn between the urge to turn away or to open her eyes wide and ask Mildred to clarify yet another acronym. Falling back on her trademark scepticism seems safer. “And your old school condoned this… group?”

“Sure. There are still some in the non-magic world who think it’s wrong to like girls if you’re a girl or boys if you’re a boy. But it’s getting better, more and more people don’t care at all. I do wonder why it’s so different among witches and wizard – do you know why, Miss Hardbroom?”

Hecate feels put on the spot by this open question, but fortunately Mildred ploughs on without waiting for an answer.

“I mean, non-magic same-sex civil unions were not even invented until 1989. England legalised them in 2005 and actual same-sex marriages as recent as 2014. Esme says magic marriage ceremonies, like binding spells, were never specifically for a witch and a wizard. So shouldn’t we be way ahead of non-magic people when it comes to gays and lesbians?” Mildred tilts her head inquiringly. Considering how scattered her mind can be in potion class and any other class, really, it is striking how well-informed Mildred is on this particular topic. As her teacher, Hecate should feel proud and appreciate the fact that Mildred clearly looks to her as an authority, but right now Hecate feels like a fraud. Oh how she wishes Mildred were old enough to drink so she could distract her with a toast. As it is, the only thing stopping the girl from taking Hecate completely apart with her curiosity is Mildred’s eagerness to come up with her own theories. 

“I guess media plays a part. Most magic people don’t watch TV and miss out on Skins and Sugar Rush.”

“Sugar Rush?” Again, Hecate is at a loss. Her mind conjures images of glazed, pink donuts – and a particular pink witch along with them – but she is quite certain Mildred must be referring to something else. The reversal of their normal teacher-student roles is beginning to give Hecate a headache.

Mildred, on the other hand, seems unperturbed by it. She is happily explaining away. “It’s a British TV series about a lesbian teenage girl crushing on her supposedly straight best friend. It’s quite hilarious actually,” she adds with a giggle.

And Hecate cannot, for the life of her, imagine how being a teenager in love with your best straight friend could ever be the least bit humorous. Personally, she found being a teenager horrendous in and of itself, and the experience of being in love with… She downs the rest of her red wine and magically refills the glass with a flick of her wrist. If the opening ceremony does not begin soon, she risks drinking herself to oblivion before Pippa sets foot on the stage.

“Transfigurative Youth is not merely about… sexual minorities.” Hecate hates how her voice nearly cracks at the term as if she has not used her vocal chords in years. To be fair, in this particularly area she has not. But Hecate’s intention is to steer the conversation away from difficult memories, not to let Mildred know she ever had difficulties.

Fortunately Mildred does not seem to notice Hecate’s tension. Or perhaps, being the emotionally perceptive person she is, she deliberately chooses to ignore it. “It is,” she confirms with a wide smile. “Transfigurative Youth is… I think Esme calls it _intersectional_? She says all magic people should have the same opportunities no matter what their gender is or who they love or what they look like. And many magic minorities need support.” Mildred nods to the stage where a young brown-haired witch in a power chair is adjusting a microphone. “Iris is the first magic person in a wheelchair I’ve even met! And no wonder. Cackle’s Academy has nothing but stairs,” she adds with a deep frown. “I wonder if there is such a thing as adapted brooms…”

Before Hecate can answer, the light around her and Mildred dims. The stage, on the other hand, is lit up with spots, and everyone claps when Pippa Pentangle materialises right in the middle of it. She is elegant as ever, dressed in a pink suit that makes her seem tall and long-legged. Her blonde hair is up in an elaborately braided do, and it sparkles under the light, most likely courtesy of some magic hairspray. On anyone else it would probably seem over the top, but Pippa herself has always been bright, Hecate thinks. She carries the extravagance with ease. And her lightness has always rubbed off on everything and everyone around her. Even a Hardbroom. Right now, for instance, Hecate cannot help but smile as she momentarily forgets her awkwardness, vanishes her wine glass, and applauds her oldest friend along with the rest of the audience.

 

* * * * *

 

Pippa waits for the audience to quiet down, before she grasps the microphone. The fact that there is a microphone at all is a little strange; a simple spell could replace the technology. But Pippa talks into the apparatus as if it were the most natural thing in the magic world. “I thank you all for letting me speak at the very first Transfigurative Youth conference. It’s such an honour.”

Pippa begins with unnecessary humility, Hecate thinks: this conference should feel honoured by Pippa’s presence, not the other way round.

But Pippa clearly stands by her words, because she elaborates on them: “It’s an honour, but it’s also a little peculiar. I realise _some_ consider Pentangle’s Academy the beginning of the end of anything traditional in the magic community…” She pauses to share a smile with a few giggling members of the audience. “However, as its headteacher I still represent an educational system that, in many ways, places crushing standards on all of us. Standards of success. Standards of a good life. Standards that, I hate to admit, have also affected me.”

Hecate blinks at the almost unnoticeable tremor in Pippa’s voice. She is certain no one else notices, but Hecate has known Pippa since they were eleven years old, and in spite of decades spent apart she can still tell when Pippa smiles because she is open to the world – and when her smile is a shield against that world. Right now, the latter is clearly the case, although Hecate cannot imagine what Pippa might need to shield herself from. She is talking about standards, but Pippa more than lives up to any conceivable one. _  
_

“From an early age, you have ideas planted in your head that tell you how you have to act, how you have to dress, who you have to be.” Pippa is back on track. Whatever insecurity was there before, is now gone. “It can be so _hard_ to push back and be authentic. To follow your heart.” Pippa’s gaze takes in the entire room as if she is searching for something, and Hecate has a strange sense that this _something_ might be her, but she quickly pushes the wildly unsubstantiated notion aside. Surely, Pippa is merely making certain she has the audience’s full attention.

Or maybe she is trying to properly address everyone, because the next words out of her mouth are: “However, together, all of us in this room can do so much more than any one person could alone. I hope that thought bolsters you as much as it does me.”

Why Pippa would ever need bolstering is beyond Hecate. On the contrary, Pippa was the one who bolstered Hecate through their years at school together, and maybe this is exactly what Pippa is referring to when she adds: “I know there are people in this room who have been treated horribly at school for no reason. Who feel like you can’t tell your loved ones the whole truth about yourself.”

Much to her own irritation, Hecate feels heat rising in her cheeks. To what extent is Pippa talking directly to her right now? How _personal_ is this? Does Pippa realise how exposed this speech might make Hecate feel?

“You worry about your future. About what your life can be like. Or even about your physical safety.”

Hecate is astounded by how accurately Pippa puts into words what she herself never dared to voice. The crumbling fear that always lingered at the back of Hecate’s mind in her youth, even when Pippa managed to make her laugh and be silly. Especially then.

Of course, Hecate’s sense of being directly addressed is preposterous, she reminds herself. Pippa is addressing Transfigurative Youth, and Hecate just happens to be present and have paranoid tendencies. The wide and sincere smile from Pippa is intended for the entire audience, not one person, when she declares: “I’m so inspired by the fact that you are all here because you share the same vision: that this world can be better if we take just 5 minutes to recognize each other’s beauty instead of attacking each other for our differences.”

A skill Pippa always mastered, Hecate thinks; when everyone else considered Hecate too weird to even talk to, Pippa befriended her. She stuck by her side, encouraged her, made her feel worthy when even her own parents made Hecate doubt her right to exist in the world.

“It’s not hard, and it saves lives,” Pippa says simply, as if she reads Hecate’s mind. Then, surprisingly, she adds: “It’s not easy either.”

Pippa summons a glass of water and takes a sip. She moves gracefully as ever, but Hecate recognises the stalling tactic for what it is and frowns. Something is going on with Pippa, and it has little to do with speaking in front of a live audience. Pippa is so used to being a public figure it is second nature to her. There is something _else_.

“It can be the hardest thing, because loving other people starts with loving ourselves,” Pippa says, and there is that tiny tremor in her voice again. “I know many of you have struggled with this. People in the magic community who aren’t white, aren’t straight, aren’t able-bodied face prejudice, discrimination and hate-crimes every day. It is toxic and painful and deeply unfair.”

Toxic. It is such a precise description of the disdain, the looks, and gossip surrounding Hecate in her childhood and youth and through much of her adult life. Again, she feels exposed by Pippa’s words. She casts a quick look about to see if anyone is watching her, but even Mildred is too focused on Pippa to take notice of Hecate. At this point Pippa’s nerves are so obvious most people should be able to pick up them, and it dawns on Hecate that the microphone serves a purpose no magic could replace: it gives Pippa something to do with her hands. She is not simply holding it; she is _clinging_ to it as if it were the only thing grounding her. Her fingers are white from the effort. Hecate wishes she could reach right across the conference hall and cradle them with her own.

“I read a report the other day stating that non-magic LGBT youth on average become aware of their sexuality and gender identity at the age of 13,” Pippa says rather quietly. “But they don’t tell a single soul until they’re 17. That’s _four years_ of suppressing a vital part of yourself.” Pippa’s gaze is flickering now. “No statistics have been gathered from the magic community, but I imagine many of our LGBT members hide for much, much longer.” She licks her lips. Clears her throat. When she speaks again her voice breaks. “I certainly have.”

Inside Hecate something breaks as well: her basic sense of coherency. When Pippa continues, now openly trembling, Hecate is hearing her friend’s voice right inside of her own head and from afar at the same time.

“One of the reasons I am here today is because I’m gay.”

Around Hecate, everyone start to cheer. The eruption is loud and honest and happening _right now_ , but Hecate feels displaced in time and space. What her eyes and ears take in as reality is deemed improbable by her mind. Hecate might be the only one in the room not clapping by now, but it takes all her effort to simply remain standing.

“Maybe, by coming forward, I can help others have an easier time than I did growing up,” Pippa suggests when the audience allows her to continue. “However, I also came here for selfish reasons,” she admits. “I am _tired_ of lying by omission. I am tired of being too scared to share the whole truth of me. My spirit has suffered, my mental health has suffered, my relationships have suffered.”

Relationships. Hecate picks that one word out from the blur. Pippa has had _relationships_. With whom? With other witches? With witches other than-

“But standing here today, with all of you, I feel certain.” The strength is returning to Pippa’s voice, and it underlines her point: “I feel more certain than ever that _we all_ deserve to experience love and life fully. Equally. Without compromise and without shame.” Pippa is lifting her face now, letting it shine upon every other face in the room without a trace of the shame that Hecate could never shake. “You can make that possible in the magic community. You already are! And that’s why having _me_ giving _you_ a motivational speech seemed peculiar. What I should be telling you is: Thank you. Thank you for motivating me, for inspiring me, for giving me hope. And please keep changing the world for people like me.”

The audience is roaring, stomping, whistling, and Pippa, now holding the microphone loosely in one hand, is brighter than Hecate has ever seen her on or off stage. For once, her brightness fails to reach Hecate. The term ‘people like me’ reverberates in her head as she tries to merge the words with everything she thought she knew of Pippa.

It is so easy to conclude that Hecate never knew her at all, but if that were the case then Pippa never knew Hecate either. Hecate cannot blame Pippa for holding back, because she herself has held back her entire life. She has never shared her own whole truth with Pippa or with anyone else for that matter. She never thought it possible. Not if she wanted to survive. Not if she wanted the world to remain standing.

Around Hecate, the world is not merely standing in the face of Pippa’s revelation; it is springing to life. There is motion everywhere as hands reach to shake Pippa’s or to wipe at stray tears or easy smiles. From her place next to Hecate, Mildred springs to life as well, pushes off and weaves her way through the crowd. She disappears from Hecate’s line of sight to reappear right by the ramp leading up to the stage. When Pippa ascends, Mildred meets her halfway in a crushing hug that has Pippa nearly stumble and then burst into laughter. There is such a sense of release to the scene unfolding right in front of Hecate, yet she herself has no part in it.

Pippa’s words still echo in Hecate’s mind, and she is unable to form her own. She needs to move. She needs to leave this chaos. Above everything else, she needs to talk to Pippa.

 

* * * * *

 

Hecate has been pacing outside the door to Pippa’s room at the conference centre for a while when Pippa shows up. The wait should have given Hecate time to handle the conversation that needs to take place between them, but she still has no idea what to say to her oldest friend.

Pippa keeps a fraction more of a distance between them than she normally would, Hecate notes. She neither hugs Hecate nor kisses her cheek, but her voice sounds the way it always has when she greets her with a small smile. “Hello, Hiccup.”

It is Hecate’s turn to speak, but so many sentences are competing with one another in her mind: _You are brilliant. You are brave. How long have you known? What relationships? I wish I had been there for you. I wish I had your eloquence. When you said ‘people like me’ you could have said ‘people like us’. I’ve been in love with you forever._

What comes out is something else entirely: “Why did you make that speech?”

What Hecate means is: How did you find the courage to make the speech, and what did I do to make you afraid of sharing your truth with me before that? However, Hecate’s inherent brusqueness undermines everything she is trying to tell Pippa, transforms her question into an accusation.

Pippa takes a step back. “It was not a decision taken lightly. It has been more than thirty years in the making, Hecate.” She has switched to using Hecate’s given name rather than one reserved only for their friendship.

“You knew at Amulet’s, yet you never told me?” Again, Hecate’s words sound differently out loud than they did in her own head.

“I was scared of telling anyone. But I thought _you_ knew,” Pippa says defensively.

And Hecate _did_ know. She has known she was different for as long as Pippa apparently has, and Pippa is right; she never said anything either.

“I did. I thought it an abomination at the time,” Hecate admits. It is the most she has ever shared with another person about her sexual proclivities. From almost anyone else she would expect judgement, but she thinks Pippa will appreciate her attempt at emotional honesty.

Before her, however, Pippa’s face crumbles.

Hecate is at a loss. “You always wanted to know why I left, and that’s why,” she quickly continues, but it seems to make everything worse. Pippa’s eyes are filling with tears. “Why are you crying?”

A sob escapes Pippa, and she pushes her hands against her mouth as if trying to force it back. “Please stop,” she begs.

“But… I thought you wanted to know,” Hecate says miserably.

“I don’t. I can’t hear anymore. You just confirmed everything I feared for years, and I can’t carry that with me anymore, Hecate. I just can’t. I have to let go,” Pippa whispers hoarsely. She cries openly now, but there is finality in her voice, and it freezes Hecate to the spot. She finds herself unable to reach out with any more words or even a hand as Pippa quickly opens the door to her room, then closes and locks it between them.

This, too, seems final, and it occurs to Hecate that their friendship might not recover again, even if she cannot quite fathom what just transpired. She does not understand why Pippa reacted so strongly to Hecate being the same way Pippa herself has very publicly admitted she is. If Pippa is not opposed to Hecate’s same-sex attraction, then perhaps she is repulsed by Hecate’s attraction to Pippa in particular? Hecate feels more dismantled than she did in the conference hall. If Pippa is disgusted with her, then why did she appear heartbroken? And if big-hearted, progressive, and apparently gay Pippa cannot handle Hecate’s honesty, then who else could?

  
* * * * *  
 

“Miss Hardbroom! It is very good to see you.”

The voice is softer than that of Mildred Hubble, and when Hecate turns towards its source her eyes meet Esmeralda Hallows’. “I-I… You, as well,” she stutters in reply.

A curious expression briefly crosses Esmeralda’s face. She looks past Hecate’s shoulder, probably taking in their empty surroundings and what it might mean that Hecate is lurking here rather than mingling in the conference hall. When her gaze returns to Hecate’s, and Hecate averts her eyes in spite of herself, Esmeralda seems to make a quick decision: “I need a reprieve from the racket. My room is two doors down. I would very much appreciate your company.”

The teacup offered by Esmeralda minutes later serves much the same purpose for Hecate as the microphone did for Pippa an hour earlier: It lets her cover up the fact that she is fidgeting in a most undignified way. She is, after all, a professional, nearly middle-aged teacher seated in front of her 17 year old student.

But Esmeralda is wise beyond her years and perceptive in much the same way Mildred is. Unlike Mildred, however, she never sets Hecate on edge. Esmeralda never rambles and is always mindful of other people’s boundaries. Right now she talks politely of her new organisation and the conference in a way that actually helps Hecate get her bearings back.

“I needed a break,” the teenager admits, “even though so far the conference is going really well. For a brand new, potentially controversial organisation we have received more support than I dared to hope for.” Esmeralda speaks quietly while slowly sipping her tea. Everything about her is balanced, and her control never turns rigid the way Hecate’s does. She offers Hecate a conspiratorial half-smile that puts Hecate further at ease. “Not from my parents, of course.”

“Of course,” Hecate parrots, still slightly out of it in spite of Esmeralda’s calming effect. Then she pulls herself together and forms a proper sentence: “Why did you start the organisation then?”

“You mean, why did I start it knowing my family might disinherit me?” Despite the seriousness of the topic Esmeralda is still smiling. “I suppose my priorities have changed with events of the past year. Losing my magic…” She pauses, weighing her words. “I was always a perfect daughter. Head girl, well-behaved, able-bodied, normative in every way,” she says. “Then suddenly I wasn’t, and the consequences came as a shock. I lost my place in our world. Everyone looked at me differently, as if I was… _less_. A tragic mishap to be kept away from public scrutiny, not a whole person deserving of the same respect most take for granted. The respect I myself took for granted up until then,” she adds with a small frown.

Hecate says nothing as Esmeralda’s words sink in. The teenager is describing _exactly_ what Hecate always feared, why she prefers to hide from the world. But Hecate herself has not risen above judgmental behaviour. When Esmeralda lost her magic, Hecate pitied her. She projected her own overwhelming fear of ending up powerless onto the teenager and failed to treat her the same as before. Not only did Hecate approach Esmeralda unfairly; she assessed her incorrectly. It is obvious now that Esmeralda, even without magic, was never powerless.

“The experience was eye-opening. And I discovered many others were treated like me, for many other reasons. Do you know how my parents convinced each other things could have been worse for our family?” She looks Hecate in the eye, and Hecate shakes her head no. “They said: Our daughter is magically disabled, but at least she isn’t _queer_.”

The tea is still hot, but Hecate feels a chill course through her body as she swallows some of it. She always knew, from personal experience even, that the Hallows were unkind. Perhaps as unkind as Hecate's own parents had been. But to hear Esmeralda calmly repeat their horrible words makes her feel physically ill. This is the kind of judgment Hecate never dared to face, and a 17-year-old girl is confronting it head on. It makes Hecate wonder what her own 48 years of experience might accomplish if she followed Esmeralda’s example.     

“What they said was so _cruel_ … and uninformed. Why should they care whom I fall in love with? Or what status I have in the witching community? The only thing parents should concern themselves with is making sure their children are happy and _safe_. As long as my parents’ perspective rules, many of us can be neither,” Esmeralda concludes. “Not that I am under the illusion that my parents can change. But I can. And if enough of us join forces, together we can change our whole community. Much like a coven, Transfigurative Youth gains strength from numbers,” she explains.

To Hecate, who up until today more or less thought she was the only one of her kind in the magic community, a particular, inapproriate question is pressing: “Are you… are you also…” She trails off before finishing, but eloquence proves unnecessary, or perhaps Hecate is easier to read than she hoped.

In any case Esmeralda guesses her question straight away. “Am I gay? Not to my knowledge. Of course, I can’t say for certain that I’ll _never_ meet a witch or a non-magic woman that I’ll be attracted to, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

Just as the world was beginning to make sense to Hecate, she is back to utter confusion. “Are you not worried people will read you wrong after tonight?” she wonders.

Esmeralda puts her now empty teacup down and shrugs. “Not really. It’s not important that I have my magic back or that I’m not gay. The point is, I could have been, or one of my sisters might be.” She arches an eyebrow. “I suspect Mildred Hubble is. I’m pretty sure she has a crush on me.”

Hecate cannot help be affected by how entirely _unaffected_ Esmeralda seems by the idea of a girl being in love with her when Esmeralda herself is straight. “You are not disturbed by her… interest?”

“Why would I be?” Esmeralda tilts her head in honest confusion. “I’ve had my own share of hopeless crushes. The fact that I can’t return Mildred’s feelings makes them unrequited, as love unfortunately often is, it doesn’t make them wrong.”

Esmeralda sounds so certain. If a barely adult and perfectly respectable witch can be accepting of all kinds of love, even when it is misdirected at herself, then surely she would not judge Hecate if she dared to… “I think I might be… _that way_ ,” she says vaguely. And when Esmeralda keeps smiling at her with a completely open expression Hecate wills herself to clarify: “I am gay.”

The walls do not cave in on her. She is not changed into a toad as she utters a word that Hecate always expected to change everything. And Esmeralda is still smiling, still sitting quietly in front of her. Over the years, Hecate has imagined so many different outcomes of a conversation like this one that she thought she would have exhausted the possibilities, but the one thing she never expected was for everything to stay… normal.

“Is this the first time you’re telling someone?” Esmeralda asks. There is no judgment in her question. When Hecate nods, Esmeralda puts her hand on Hecate’s forearm. “Then congratulations!”

Forget normal, Hecate thinks; she has been transported into the Twilight Zone where things make even less sense than in the Mists of Time. Hecate has spilled this heavy secret, yet Esmeralda is touching her and sounding as if it is cause for celebration. “Why are you congratulating me?” Hecate asks in bewilderment.

“When someone dares to be true to themselves, in spite of what people like my parents believe, then I think congratulations are in order, don’t you? It’s the same thing I said to Miss Pentangle after her speech.”

Suddenly it occurs to Hecate that maybe Pippa closed her door in Hecate’s face because she handled their conversation horribly, not because Pippa found _her_ horrible. Thinking back, Hecate's reaction to Pippa’s revelation probably came across as the opposite to Esmeralda’s just now. “I think I might have said the wrong thing to her earlier,” Hecate admits. 

“To Miss Pentangle?” Esmeralda asks for clarification, even if it is unnecessary. At this point, Hecate would not be surprised if the girl has perceived much more than she lets on.

“Yes. There were many things I wanted to talk to her about. I ended up demanding answers when maybe I should have simply commended her.” Hecate shakes her head at herself.

Esmeralda has not withdrawn her hand yet and squeezes Hecate’s arm in a way that should not feel assuring given their age difference. But it does. “Well, Miss Hardbroom. You can _still_ do that.”

 

* * * * *

 

Transferring into someone’s private room without permission is considered trespassing, and Hecate knows it will likely infuriate Pippa. But she does not know when Pippa intends to leave the conference and will not risk being too late.  

Fortunately, Pippa is still there, still dressed in her pink suit, and she lets out a startled gasp when Hecate materialises few feet from her. It takes Pippa less than a second to recover, however, and her surprise is immediately replaced by rage: “Hecate Hardbroom, after what you said earlier, _how on earth_ can you think you are entitled to-“

“I’m attracted to witches.”

Once again Hecate fails to say what she planned. She was going to commend Pippa for her speech, but other words push their way out first. She prays to the goddesses that this time, her words will not cause harm.

For now, Pippa’s expression is unreadable. “What?” is all she says.

“I’m attracted to witches,” Hecate repeats, this time a little louder. “Although I suppose the plural tense is misleading. It was always just the one. There was never anyone, witch or wizard, besides you.”

In front of her, Pippa deflates. All tension leaves her body so suddenly she loses her balance and has to catch the back of a chair and herself to avoid stumbling to the floor.

Hecate herself is standing rigidly in the middle of the room. Without any teacup or microphone to occupy her hands, she digs her fingernails into her palms so hard they will surely leave marks.

“I wanted to clarify, because I fear you may have misunderstood me earlier. I left thirty years ago because I had fallen in love with you. The other pupils at Amulet’s were noticing. Ursula Hallows threatened to tell you, and I could not bear to have you turn me away. Or to have anyone else think you were like me.” 

“But I _was_ like you,” Pippa says slowly.

“I did not know that then. I thought I was the only one who felt the way I did. I thought so for a very long time,” Hecate admits.

Pippa approaches Hecate carefully, then continues past her and sits on the edge of the queen-sized bed that takes up most of the room. She looks pensive. “All those years I feared you might have left because _I_ was gay. I thought maybe you found it appalling.”

“I had no idea you were… gay,” Hecate clarifies again. She still finds it difficult to say the word out loud. “I knew _I_ was, and I knew it was wrong. That is, at the time I thought it wrong because of the likes of my parents and Ursula Hallows. I was defective and did not want to pull you down with me.”

“Oh, Hiccup.” Pippa looks up at Hecate, reaches for and pulls at her hand until Hecate sits next to her on the bed so they are eyelevel. “There was never anything wrong with you.”

Hecate chuckles humourlessly. “I might beg to differ there, Pipsqueak.”

There is a beat. “Do you think _me_ defective?”

“Of course not,” Hecate states firmly, silently cursing her own lack of eloquence, which seems to breed misunderstandings.

Although apparently, this time, Pippa is merely trying to make a logical argument: “Well, either we are _both_ defective. Or _neither_ of us are.”

Hecate’s hand still rests within Pippa’s, but limply so. Perhaps she should remove it before trying to explain why Pippa is wrong. As it is, it will be impossible not to notice when Pippa tenses – or worse, physically withdraws – at Hecate’s words, and Hecate is not sure she can bear the rejection. However, a similar kind of fear made Hecate miss out on three decades of Pippa’s friendship, and that particular fear turned out to be unfounded. So for now, Hecate’s hand stays; Hecate stays. But she does avert her eyes. “We may have similar… inclinations,” she carefully begins. “But you were always bright and brave. You proved that again tonight. I could never be as open or well-spoken as you.”

Pippa pulls at Hecate’s hand, probably in a futile attempt to get her to look up. “I rewrote that speech six times, Hiccup. And I was so nervous I actually threw up backstage before giving it.”

“But you gave it anyway, not knowing how your words would be received. Where I ran scared, you have managed to live a much more… full life.” The word ‘relationships’ still echoes in Hecate’s mind. Pippa’s relationships. “I, on the other hand, threw my everything into academia.”

“And your contributions in the field are invaluable,” Pippa interjects.

But Hecate will not be dissuaded from the point she is trying to make. “I honed my skills in one field, but missed entirely out on another. I thought I _had_ to. And now,” she takes a deep breath before voicing the thing that sets her even more apart than being gay, makes her incomplete in a way Pippa is clearly not. “Now I’m decades behind. Nearly fifty and… and a virgin. Unkissed. I never expected the world to change, and now that it does, it’s too late for me to keep up.” It’s the closest to a ramble Hecate has ever been, and she loathes the accompanying sense of losing control.

She is also losing Pippa’s hand. But only for a second – then the hand reappears, and this time the touch is more intimate. Pippa reaches for Hecate’s chin so she can gently turn her face towards herself. “Hiccup,” she says. She waits until Hecate meets her gaze and finds affection and honesty and an odd hint of humour there. “Some other time I will go into why the whole concept of virginity is misogynist, heterosexist, and fundamentally flawed, but for now let me just point out that you can go from never-been-kissed to well-shagged in less than an hour.”

Pippa does not blush. Why does she not blush? Hecate can feel her own ears burning at Pippa’s bluntness.

“You have time, Hiccup.”

And why does it seem as if Pippa is supressing a smile? Hecate wants to turn her head, but Pippa now cradles her face with both hands and holds it in place for a full minute before finally allowing Hecate to look away.

“Also, I should probably add that my attempts at living a full life have been moderately successful at best,” Pippa continues. “In my speech I said my relationships suffered from secrecy, and while this is true, it’s far from the whole truth. A key ingredient to a lasting relationship is that it is actually with the person you _want_. The witches I have been with were merely approximations.”

Hecate feels her ears perk up, even if her eyes remain downcast.

“I suppose those few who knew of my personal life over the years might recognise that I had a very particular type.”

Now Hecate’s tongue stirs as well. “Which type?” it demands.

“Which one…” It sounds as if Pippa is on the verge of giggling as she drags out the suspense. “I suppose… Tall, gangly, dark-haired, formidable witches with a penchant for wearing black?”

Hecate’s eyebrows reach her hairline in confusion. Surely Pippa cannot mean… Hecate has to glace at her old friend for clarification. And there she is, staring back with that same look of affection and humour and something else, something more intense, something like…

_Oh._

The realisation that Pippa _wants_ her is so sudden it makes Hecate gape. When she remembers to close her mouth she feels her lips stretching into a smile of their own volition. The way she shakes her head rapidly, on the other hand, is very much intended.

“Hiccup? What is it?”

“It’s just a bit much,” Hecate admits. Then, before more misunderstandings can arise, she adds: “Having to come to terms with being a lesbian _and_ a bloody fool in one and the same night.”

With that, the shaky breath that just left Pippa transforms into full belly laughter. Hecate is on the verge of joining as she looks back at her friend with at gaze that hopefully mirrors everything Pippa tried to convey to her moments before. Love, lust, humour… hope.

“Would it be entirely too much,” Pippa asks with a twinkle in her eyes when she is able to speak again, “if that one eventful night also included a first kiss?”

Hecate, feeling playful in way she has not since their youth, narrows her eyes. “That depends. Who is the giver?”

This time the hands reaching for Hecate’s face are clumsy rather than gentle. “Of _course_ me, fool. If I have my way, I will never again kiss anyone else.”

And Pippa, of course, has her way.

  
* * * * *

 

So much can change in one night, Hecate thinks quite a bit more than an hour later as she is lying naked in the queen-sized hotel bed next to an equally naked Pippa. For instance, Hecate’s obsession with personal hygiene seems to have changed. At the moment, she is deliberately putting off a cleaning spell. She finds she rather _likes_ the fact that the room smells of them. She likes that her hair is unusually tangled. Likes how her limbs are humming with a sort of heavy electricity. How her skin is in some places a little sticky. How she is, in certain places, a tiny bit sore. Places that twitch involuntarily at the accompanying vivid memories of _why._

Hecate is sure she flushes as she recalls the sounds Pippa made. The softness of Pippa under her fingertips, and around them. The surprise of what it felt like to open herself to Pippa’s hand and lips and tongue and… _heart_. The latter came as the biggest surprise, because it is the one thing Hecate always failed to consider when pondering what she might be missing out on: that all of this, sharing kisses and a bed, is about sharing affection. At least, it is with Pippa. Perhaps this is why the shame Hecate expected to spend a wakeful night battling never came. All she felt was loved. It is what she still feels with Pippa’s breath tickling her ear, Pippa’s arms around her in a lose hold that Pippa seems reluctant to relinquish even in sleep.

Otherwise Hecate feels exactly as before, and that astonishes her more than anything. She thought her lack of intimate experiences set her apart from everyone else, but she clearly placed too much weight on one very specific event. She expected it to make her into a new person, whole where she used to be scarce half made up. The fact that she does _not_ feel fundamentally changed makes her realise that she has been whole all along.

She does feel rather happy, though. And sated. And sure that this is something she will continue to want, with Pippa.

Behind her, Pippa stirs. Her forearm grazes Hecate’s nipple in the process and Hecate’s body, apparently as awake as her mind, shivers rather indiscreetly.

The reaction instantly alerts Pippa. “You’re still awake,” she notes. “Is everything alright?”

Hecate drags her arm across Pippa’s, holding it in place against her chest. “More than alright, Pipsqueak.”

“Are you sure?” She feels Pippa’s insecurity in the way her arm remains tense, struggles a little against Hecate’s hold. “I just… I’ve wanted you for _years_ , and to discover those feelings were mutual… I may have gotten a little carried away. You _did_ say this night was overwhelming. Oh, Hiccup. I hope you don’t feel rushed.”

Pippa’s concern is so overt and so, so misplaced. Hecate turns in her embrace and silences the ramble with a kiss. It works. Pippa instantly melts against her, breasts to stomachs to thighs, and there is that _twitch_ again, Hecate notices. Maybe Pippa waking is not entirely a bad thing. “Thirty years is hardly rushing, darling,” Hecate assures her with an airy chuckle.

“I suppose not.” Pippa pulls her a little closer and tangle their legs. If she hears the way Hecate’s breath hitches, she does not let on. “But still, I want you to set your own pace. I took years deciding to come out publicly. If you’re not ready to be as open as that, then I will wait. We don’t have to tell anybody right now. Or ever, really.” She adds the last part a little hesitantly, and Hecate knows even if Pippa means it – and she is sure Pippa means it, is sure Pippa will accept whatever Hecate is willing or brave enough to give – it is not, at the end of the day, what will make Pippa happy.

It would not make Hecate happy either. Not by a long shot. “I will definitely never make a public speech,” she admits, “but I don’t want you to have to hide us. _I_ don’t want to hide us.” She holds Pippa’s inquisitive gaze, allows her to see that Hecate is not simply trying to please Pippa. This is what she wants, for herself, as well.

And Pippa sees, but does not quite understand. Her eyes flicker from Hecate’s left to her right and back. “I thought you worried about how people, especially the parents of your students, would react.”

“Oh, I do,” Hecate admits easily. “That has not changed. Not yet, at least.”

“What has changed then?” Pippa wonders.

The reply falls automatically from Hecate's lips. “I suppose my priorities have changed," she says, quoting Esmeralda Hallows. Her next words are her own: "I now believe this is worth any reaction that might come.”

Hecate feels the truth of the statement the moment she says it out loud, the moment she sees then feels Pippa’s smile against her shoulder.

Because _this_ is already worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Watch Ellen Page's fabulous speech here: https://youtu.be/brC7wUItMLg
> 
> Unlike Ellen Page, Pippa mentions when LGBT youth generally become aware of their identity and when they first tell someone else. The numbers are from an actual report on contemporary Danish LGBT youth. I could not find any official English statistics, but suspect they would be similar.


End file.
